When Angels Walk Away
by darth tasuki
Summary: A pre-game fic about Shrine Knight origins. Mainly about Rofel and Kletian. Chapter 2 is up.


Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Tactics is not mine, do not sue me for giving these guys personality. If you're feeling particularly cheery, I advise you to walk away. (Duh, it's SHRINE KNIGHT fanfiction.) As there is absolutely NO Kletian or Rofel fanfiction out there, and very little about Vormav and _his_ happy family, I will take this holy duty upon myself. I'm not much of a writer, but no one else is doing it, so, here it is.

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When Angels Walk Away

Chapter 1: Falling Darkness

The setting sun cast grim shadows over a bleak landscape littered with bodies. Severed limbs, broken weapons, and mangled carcasses told graphically of the battle that had been fought that day. Flies gorged themselves on the stinking flesh, and vultures fed hungrily on the sweet muscles. The air was thick with the dust of battle and the stink of death. 

Rofel Wodring sneered as he took in the devastation. Just another battlefield. Just another razed village, the ignorant paying for their crimes. Ignorance, pride, ambition... the downfall of all who lay here today. In a war like this, it didn't matter whose side you were on. It didn't matter if you were a pacifist, concerned only in your daily duties. Inevitably, you would die. Everyone was connected like this, the ambitious dragging the proud, the proud engulfing the ignorant. And it led to certain death, no matter who you were, noble or peasant. 

That was why Rofel took no sides. That was why he fought when he was attacked, whether by proud soldiers or starving bandits.

That was why he was still alive.

One of the bloody bodies twitched. A wan hand groped the ashen ground, searching weakly for something. It touched Rofel's leather boot. Haunted eyes stared up at him. Bloodless lips mouthed, "Help!" from a sawdust tongue. "Help!"

Rofel's sneer deepened as he shoved the hand away. "Better for you to die," he said quietly. Quiet like death. "As long as you live, you're just one more mouth to feed." Ruthlessly, he kicked the creature hardly recognizable as human away. He turned his back to leave. No one was endangering his life anymore. He could walk away.

He felt a touch on his boots again. Somehow, the wretch had gathered enough strength to return. "Help!" it whispered, choking on the black smoke that still drifted sporadically. "P...please... help... me!"

"You're a fool to expect help from me." Rofel murmured. He gently stroked the hilt of his sword--the same sword he'd pulled from his father's back and murdered men with in a rage--and considered. The beastly thing at his feet continued to tug at him, begging him in hoarse whispers for help. Rofel shrugged; just this once, he would be the angel of mercy. He lifted his sword above his head, and, before the creature could cry out, chopped off its head.

A shake of the blade, and the blood was gone. The young man resheathed his sword and began the arduous journey over corpses and smoldering wood. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of death. In this blasphemous mirror of a world, life _was_ death. And there was no light amid the darkness of chaos. 

A sound, totally incongruous with his surroundings, made his eyes snap open. This was the _last_ place he would have expected to hear such a noise.

Someone was laughing.

One hand straying again towards his hilt, he picked his way cautiously through the rubble to find the source of the laughter. It seemed to evade him, fading and growing stronger, disorienting him. But as he went on, it gradually became stronger. This was no adult's laughter; a _child_ was giggling. 

Rofel groaned as he spotted the child, a skinny brunet sitting on a mound of corpses, laughing. The child was crouched over, absorbed in something Rofel could not see. Rofel sighed, listening to the heart-rending cry of steel as he unsheathed his blade. He wasn't here to help people, not even children. Just this one more, and then he was leaving.

The boy's head swiveled as Rofel advanced on him. He flashed a smile at Rofel, green eyes sparkling in the scant light of destruction. Rofel hesitated; why not just let the kid starve to death? A flash of anger coursed through him at his hesitation, and he fixed himself with determination.

Before he could do anything, though, the kid jumped up and tugged the seam of Rofel's tattered coat. "Look, look!" he shouted, capering in delight. "Look what I can do!" 

Rofel lifted his sword to deal a killing blow, then stopped as the boy showed him. A flame was hovering in the air. There were still some flames in some houses, but most of them were gone, and _none_ of them hovered in the air. Those lingering flames were a sickly blue or purple, too, not this vibrant orange. 

"See? Watch!" The child clapped his hands and laughed again, then, in a voice of childish innocence, uttered words that made Rofel's heart freeze: "Destruction of nature, gather in flame! Fire!" He directed the flame at a nearby building, and a burning glow filled Rofel's eyes. The little that was left of the house collapsed.

Rofel lowered his weapon and stood there, working his mouth soundlessly. Then, "How did you do that?" he asked.

"I watched some men do it a little bit ago. Isn't that neat?" The child laughed again, delighted with his feat.

Rofel glanced down at the rubble the boy was standing on. There were two adult forms, vaguely human... "Your parents dead, kid?"

The boy's face darkened. "Huh?"

"Your parents," Rofel said, exasperated. "_Are they dead_?"

The child stared at him blankly. His eyes took on a vacuous expression and his lips hung slightly open.

Rofel waited for more than a suitable amount of time. "Know any other tricks?" he asked finally.

Life filled those liquid orbs again. "I think, if I tried really hard, I could make light fall from the sky! Like when it rains," he added, explaining.

"Um..." Rofel muttered, only half-listening. So those two were his parents, as he'd suspected. And the condition the boy was suffering from was fairly new; the boy's grubby face still had telltale tearpaths. "Suffering," he murmured to himself. "Or a way to keep from suffering..."

Abruptly he noticed the silence in the air; the boy was no longer laughing. He knelt down beside the child, who wore a confused, somber expression.

"Why won't it work?" the boy asked, peering up at Rofel with lucid eyes. 

"What?"

"I can't make it work anymore. Not even the fire..." His tone became pleading. "Why? Did it leave me, like...?" His eyes filled with tears, but did not spill over.

"Only for a little while," Rofel said quickly. "You're just tired from casting a spell. After you've rested a bit, you'll be able to do it again." 

The boy cocked his head in confusion. "Casting a spell?"

"That's what it's called when you make fire appear like that." Rofel said absently. He chewed his lip. Magical abilities normally did not manifest themselves until the caster was _much_ older, and if they did, they often killed the user. It took a great deal of experience to be able to contain even a small amount of magic, and to control it. This kid couldn't be older than eight, yet he had not only _cast_ magic, he had been able to contain it and control it, as well. 

And if one so young could master magic just by watching it done...

"Listen kid, your parents are... Your home is gone. You've nothing left here." There it was again, Rofel noticed. As soon as he mentioned the word "parents," the boy's face became as expressionless as a rock. Probably a good idea to steer away from that subject. "If you stay here, you can expect to sleep on the cold ground and eat nothing, and bandits will slit your throat as readily as they breathe. Now, I'm going to offer you my protection..." Rofel could scarcely believe the words pouring out of his mouth. Even though he was just bringing the kid along for his magic, he never thought he could make himself sound charitable. But he wasn't, he told himself firmly. This boy could make something of himself, and could be a powerful weapon in the right hands. _His_ hands.

Rofel had never been surprised in his life, not since that night years ago. When he'd seen his family strewed across the floor, and heard the screams from across the street, he'd been surprised. Since then, he'd hardened himself, never putting up with any of those ridiculous emotions if he could help it. But he was surprised when the boy flung his arms around his neck and started chattering happily about how much fun it would be. And he felt something else, deep inside... What was it? He couldn't even recognize feelings anymore. It had been too long...

Roughly yanking the boy off, Rofel snapped, "Quit hanging on me! I'm older than you, and I require respect. If you're going to act like a fool, I'll leave you behind." He had no intention of doing any such thing; the boy was too valuable to end up as a snack for vultures!

But he had no need to make good his threat, for the boy looked up at him soberly, nodding. "Okay, I promise." Exactly what he was promising, Rofel was unsure. "But you don't look that much older than me. 'Xcept your eyes."

Rofel started, then stood up and eyed the boy uneasily. It was true, Rofel _was_ just in his teens. But he didn't feel that way. He shivered in the falling darkness. How much did his eyes reveal?

A small, dirty hand slipped into his. The boy smiled up at him innocently. "Where're we going?"

Good question, Rofel thought. Instead of answering, he said, "We may as well learn each other's names." But nothing else, for the boy. _Rofel_ would do all the analyzing around here. "I'm Rofel Wodring."

"Rofel...Wan'dring..." The boy's mouth twisted as he said the words, as though they had a peculiar taste. Then he nodded brightly. "My name's Kletian. Kletian Drowa. I want you to teach me how to burn things, Rofel. I want to make fire like there was today."

Rofel nodded, and a scrap of forgotten knowledge suddenly emerged in his mind. One of the great sages of long ago had spoken the words, "_Out of the mouths of babes shall come the truth..._" Power. The boy understood the greatness of power, so early in life. This... _Kletian_ boy... was intriguing. So, he wanted to master power, did he?

"I'll teach you to use your power, Kletian," Rofel said, smiling grimly into the darkness. "I'll teach you to make fires larger and more powerful than what you saw today. I'll teach you to burn, burn, and never stop burning." He redirected his smile at the boy. "Fire is beautiful, isn't it?"


End file.
